Absolution
by eeerie
Summary: My name is Kate, & I'm a hunter. I've been driving around Middle America in my ratty car for months. It gets repetitive, which is probably why I'm so taken with these two roadtripping brothers. Especially the one with the crazy long eyelashes.
1. Chapter 1

**I'd originally intended for this to be a major revision of my other story. But I think I'm just going to focus on this one as a story by itself - I feel like I ran my other one into the ground (even though there are only two chapters so far). Some aspects are going to be really similar, for those that have actually read the other one. Thanks!**

**This chapter is pretty short, but I had fun writing it. Hope it's fun to read!**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"What are we looking for again?" Dean asked absently, digging around in the duffel bag.

"Not women's underwear," Sam replied with a slight roll of his eyes.

"I'm merely being thorough."

"Right. Anyway, just anything that looks unusual or out of place. Hex bags, old amulets or anything that just looks old?"

"Well, haven't found anything. Except that she loves primary colors."

"We have to figure out why someone wants her dead," Sam said, frowning as he looked over the room again.

"Okay, the thing doesn't seem to have much a pattern, for one," Dean mused. "The first one – Duane Marshall – he was a cop. You know how I feel about cops. Number two – Elaine Duncan…worked in the prison. And, number three, Jillian Carter. Principal. The things we hunt definitely have a vendetta against dicks."

Sam shrugged. "But what about Kate? She doesn't seem much like a jerk to me."

"We don't know her," Dean reminded him, flipping back the comforter.

"Dean. What are you doing?"

"The importance of being thorough," he replied, winking.

---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ---- ----

I looked around the dingy motel room and sighed.

Even in a weird type of hiding, I'm still confined to creepy rooms like this. Granted, I'm not expecting a 4 star penthouse, but I've seen all the disco-themed honeymoon suites in Middle America.

And that made me wonder. If I hadn't known any better, I'd say that Dean and Sam Winchester were a little more than just brothers.

I suppose this may have been the only room available.

My own room in the motel down the road – by the local hangout, the gas station – had a heart on the door. And a mirror over the bed.

Anyway, that's a good thing. If the two of them were gay (ignoring the fact that they're brothers, obviously), that would be a huge loss for the female kind. A huge loss.

I'd enlisted their help just yesterday. Actually, I should say that they forced me to enlist their help. Apparently they thought I was well on my way to becoming an evil spirit's victim, and being the heroes they are, they took it upon themselves to help. I think I may have hit my head a little too hard, because I seemed to have left out the tiny fact that I'm in their line of business. It shouldn't be that big a deal.

I padded over to the mirror and studied my reflection. Thank goodness for the complimentary pink slippers…unless they're leftovers from the room's previous guests, I thought with a shudder. Best not to think about that.

Oh dear. He sure did a number on me. There was a small bruise on my cheekbone, and one to match above my eyebrow. God, even the hundred-year old spirits have lost all sense of chivalry. I guess that's somewhat understandable…but that's beside the point.

I glanced over at the window to make sure it was properly salt-lined.

Then I untied my robe and checked for bruises elsewhere on my body, because everything sure ached like hell. You would think I'd be used to this, having hunted most of my life. I don't really mind the bruises – they're actually pretty cool, especially when they turn a nasty bluish color. It's the dislocated shoulders and broken bones that piss me off. I'm going to be honest and say that sometimes, I just don't have the balls to pop a shoulder back in. So during those times, I get myself rip-roaring drunk, pop a few aspirins – bad idea, folks, but effective, for me at least – and set everything back in place.

I was so sure my left shoulder had come out during the throw-the-hunter-around game that the spirit seemed to think I wanted to take part in. He was wrong. Anyway, not dislocated, but it still throbs slightly. Inhaling sharply, I ran my fingers over the greenish-yellow bruise on my abdomen. My wonderful run-in with the bookshelf – before it toppled over and dumped all its books on my back.

"Kate?"

I tied the sash around my waist and returned to the main room.

"I'm still here," I greeted, edging closer towards the two of them. Call me girly and pathetic, but standing amongst two fairly gigantic – in height – men makes me feel safer. Men or guns and knives, same difference.

"Anything happen while we were gone?" Dean inquired, eyebrow raised as he half-tilted his head towards my getup.

I felt my face turn red. "I found these in the closet. And no, nothing. Did you guys find anything?"

"Your room's clean. Are you absolutely positive that no one would want you dead?"

I shook my head. "Look, I think I can handle this on my own."

"Even if you can," Dean said in an unbelieving tone, "this isn't just about you. It can, and will, strike again."

"I can handle it," I repeated, deciding I wouldn't tell them I was a hunter. Besides having someone die on you, the worst thing would be having other hunters think you're a failure. They'd no doubt pin it on the fact that you're female. Well, that, and the fact that you obviously aren't too great at your job.

"You're not leaving," Sam instructed. He opened the refrigerator and threw me a can of Coke. "We have pizza if you're hungry."

"I'm good," I replied.

I guess I'm not leaving.

Okay. Not complaining.

"No enemies? Nothing? Come on, no one's a saint," Dean said, sitting on one of the beds with a bottle of beer.

I snorted. "I'm no saint. The only person that may have hated me for a bit died a few years back."

The two of them shared a glance.

"I ran over her cat. But I bought her a new one and she got over it," I added quickly, settling down on the other bed.

Sam remained standing.

"You bought her a new one," Dean intoned. "You're no saint all right."

"Yeah, well, I guess that's not a good example."

"All right. Focus," Sam stated forcefully. "What's the motive?"

The TV turned on by itself before anyone could answer.

We all turned to stare at it for a few seconds.

Then the radio turned on. White noise.

And we know what that means.

"Did you touch the salt?" Sam asked in a somewhat stressed tone.

"No. It must have blown away when you came in," I replied, wishing to god that I had my bag of weapons. But alas, it is safe in my car.

"Here," Dean yelled over the static, as the lights started flickering. He threw a shotgun at Sam, who then pointed it steadily at the door as they closed in in front of me.

Accio bag! I thought, hysterically, seeing as how I couldn't see anything past their broad backs.

No dice.

"Get the girl and leave. I'll deal with Casper," Dean ordered, pointing his gun towards the bathroom.

Sam responded by grabbing my arm and pulling me towards the window. "Come on!"

Oh goddamn.

"No!" I yelled, having to raise my voice to be heard. "Give me a gun."

"What? Do you have a death with? Go!"

"Come on Kate, we don't have time to –"

I'd grabbed his shotgun before he could finish his sentence, and rushed towards the center of the room, in a pink bathrobe and fuzzy slippers.

The door burst open, bringing with it insane gusts of wind and flying particles.

"What the hell are you doing!" Dean yelled, pushing me out of the way.

You're miiiine, a ghostly voice carried over the wind.

"Do you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Great.

That was my last thought before I was unceremoniously flung into the refrigerator.

Groaning, I reached for the shotgun that had fallen from my grip midair.

Through the pain, I caught a closer glance at the thing so bent on killing me. What in the hell? A priest? I gave it no second thought before I tried to shoot the thing.

Fucking hell, I thought as the salt hit the wall instead.

In the back of my mind, I wondered why Sam and Dean weren't doing anything. I could hear them yelling, but I couldn't make out the words.

I raised the gun again, only to be thrown perilously close to the light fixture on the wall, all the way across the room.

All I could do was watch as the priest-spirit inched towards me and gripped my throat tightly with one hand. I couldn't even utter any sounds. Or scream.

Even as I was beginning to lose consciousness, I was sending telepathic messages to the two hunters hanging around doing nothing.

You have sinned, the priest whispered in a low tone, his eyes bloodshot. You have killed. You have lied to the one person that cares about you. You have no soul.

I wanted to protest all counts, but clearly was not able to.

I tried to cough, but it died deep within my chest, and only came out as the tiniest of gasps. What the fuck are those hunters doing, the voice in my head rattled on and on, as my eyes rolled back and my arms stopped fighting aimlessly.

A loud bang sounded, and then the pressure on my throat was gone.

Gasping for air, I fell to the ground and promptly passed out.


	2. Chapter 2

"God," Dean grunted, placing the girl gently on the bed. "She's heavier than I thought."

"I re-salted everything. We should be fine for now," Sam said. "What the hell was that?"

"An invisible spirit?" Dean replied, rubbing his chin with a slightly concerned look.

"What's up?"

"Should we take off her slippers? Is that what people usually do?"

"I don't think this kind of this is normal," Sam responded with a quirk of an eyebrow. "Just don't think about taking off the bathrobe."

"I wasn't –"

"Anyway, we pretty much have nothing solid to go by until she wakes up, seeing as how we couldn't hear or see the thing."

"You sure nothing's broken?" Dean gestured towards the unconscious body.

"I checked twice. She'll be fine," Sam nodded, flipping through their father's journal.

"I think she's got her head knocked around too much. Who else in their right mind would jump in front of a spirit and try to shoot it?"

"We do."

"That's different. Unless – "

Dean's sentence was interrupted by a strangled cough coming from the bed.

* * *

Since when is my throat made of sandpaper?

It hurt to even _try_ to cough.

"Hey, she's waking up," a distinctly male voice called.

"I'm up," I croaked, opening my eyes only to see two very tall blobs at the foot of the bed.

Blinking, I sat up and pinned accusing stares at the two men.

"What were you two doing when I was being flung around like a Raggedy Ann doll?" If I was twelve, I would have folded my arms over my chest and pouted.

"I shot it, didn't I?" Dean replied indignantly.

"Oh. Thanks," I responded, pulling the comforter up to my neck.

"It was invisible. We think it only appears to those it intends to…attack," Sam explained, scanning some printouts.

"It's a priest," I said, remembering the way it was dressed. "I bet he thinks he's working on behalf of God or something. Probably the Devil, actually."

Dean glanced at me with an odd look in his eyes, but it was gone too fast for me to figure out what it meant.

Oops. Did I say too much?

"Did he say anything?"

Oh dear. "Um, yeah. He did. But it was hard to hear," I lied, playing with the ends of my hair.

I'm usually a pretty decent liar, but there's just something about those inquisitive looks coming from these two men that make me go all soft. Call me crazy.

Saved by the cell phone. I hopped out of bed and went to retrieve my phone, which was currently ringing merrily – and loudly, to Britney Spears.

Oh god, kill me now, I thought as the sound increased in volume. Damn that increasing volume setting. I could hear the two of them saying something about "Britney" and "girls," in the shake-the-head girls-will-be-girls way.

"Yeah?" I asked, not bothering to see who was calling.

"Kate?"

"Oh. Ben. Hi. What's up?"

"Just checking in on you," he replied.

I peeked behind me to see what Sam and Dean were doing as I answered. "You don't have to do that you know. I'm definitely not a teenager anymore."

They were talking amongst themselves, not paying attention to my conversation.

Good.

"I'm well aware of that, thanks. Anyway, we were thinking of visiting you for Christmas this year."

"Uh, I don't think that's such a great idea," I responded, willing my brain to work. "I mean, I was going to roadtrip my way to you actually."

"You're going to drive all the way here?"

"What? We used to drive all over the country."

"Well, yeah, _before_. We weren't mindlessly driving cross-country for traveling purposes."

"I fail to see the difference."

"Okay, look, we can talk about this later, but I just don't want you to end up in an unexpected hunt for no reason."

"I won't," I stated. "I swore it off, remember?"

All right, I'm not entirely without emotion. I do feel bad about lying to my brother, but it has to be done. Hell, even a vengeful priest won't deter me from continuing my lie. It's terrible.

"Anyway," I continued, "it's almost Sadie's birthday, and I wanted to visit."

"Kate," he sighed, "I don't know if it's normal to talk about her as if she were still here."

Wow. Way to be blunt, big brother.

"Thanks," I said sarcastically, glaring at the phone as I pressed the red "OFF" button.

He called back immediately.

I switched the phone off and turned back to the hunters.

"Any new developments?" I asked, trying to forget the phone conversation.

"What was that about?"

Sam shot his brother a look that said "mind your own business," something they had both clearly not done, but Dean expertly ignored it.

Shrugging, I replied, "Just my brother."

"I think you're right about the ghost," Sam stated.

"Going after terrible people?"

"If you want to put it that way."

"Why are you a terrible person?" Dean questioned. As Sam glared at him, he stared back innocently. "What? I'm curious. I mean, aren't you the one that bought a replacement cat for someone? Plus, don't you think it'll help if we knew everything?"

"Fair enough. I don't really get along with my brother, if that's anything to go by," I responded, playing with the ends of the sash around the bathrobe. "Maybe Mr. Priest is big on the whole familial piety, thou shalt be on good terms with your brother or some crap like that."

Frowning, Dean reached for the papers that Sam had left on the bed. "I don't know. The previous victims were pretty terrible, in the strictest sense. Let's see…Duane Marshall, the cop. Apparently he enjoyed giving a beating to black people. It says here that he lost his badge." He flipped the page and skimmed the words.

"Elaine Duncan also had a penchant for violence, this time against prisoners. Huh, she almost killed someone when he apparently tried to put the moves on her. Prisoners sure are desperate." He snickered, most likely looking at her photo. I remembered her image and couldn't help but agree. She was short and stocky – nothing against short people, because I, myself, am one – and had a face of a weathered 60 year old, though she was only in her late 30s. Her eyes were droopy and heavy-lidded, her lips paper thin – the type that seemed to always be drawn tight, and her cheeks hollowed.

Dean continued. "The principal. I remember reading this on some website. She had a thing going on with a student. So now that just leaves you. I hardly think that having sibling issues is enough to do you in."

You're right, I should say. I've killed innocent people simply because they were possessed by demons, though I didn't know that at the time. I've impaled, decapitated, blown to bits, drowned, and severed. I've also let people die by not working fast enough, by not noticing all the tiny clues.

Instead, I studied the potpourri of colors that made up the carpet and said, "I have no idea. Maybe he's given up on that kill-the-sinners rampage he went on and just started focusing on people he doesn't like? Maybe he doesn't like cats. Or females."

God, I should really have just come out with the truth. Three words. I'm a hunter. Just like you! Awesome, let's hug and hit the books and guns. No, that's not how it works. And plus, I've already dug myself deep into a huge hole of lies, and I can't just hop out effortlessly.

I can, technically, but I can't will myself to do it.

Pride? Dignity? Perhaps.

I'd prefer to hold on to my dignity as hard as I can in a fuzzy pink bathrobe.

"You didn't kill your parents did you?" Dean asked cautiously, his green eyes narrowing slightly.

"What? No! That's insane."

He let out what seemed like a laugh. "Not as insane as you'd think."

Okay, I thought resolutely, if I'm going to play this part, I have to play it to the end. I nodded to myself and padded over to the bed again.

"So what is it exactly that you two do? Track down and kill these things?"

"Pretty much," Sam replied. "You're taking this whole thing very well. Most people would have been shaken up about it for a while."

"Well, it's already my second encounter with the ghost, so I'm getting used to it. Even the physical stuff."

Dean regarded me suspiciously. "You know, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you're not telling us everything. In fact, I'd go so far as to say you're lying about something."

I turned my innocent eyes on him. I would have made them big and round, but I did not, for fear of irritating my contacts. I've had one slip out of place once when I was attempting this look of innocence. Ben hadn't fallen for it, and I had ended up with a red eye. Hopefully it'll work out this time.

"Why would I?"

He shrugged. "I've learned that girls are not to be trusted."

"That's awfully general. And sexist."

"He didn't mean that," Sam cut in. "We've just had a few unfortunate encounters with some girls in the past."

"Okay, well, don't take it out on me," I replied, hoping to any entity that by the time they found out what I do, I'd be halfway across the country. The whole exchange seemed like a warning. And granted, I have my own cache of weapons, but I could only fend them off for so long. Not like they'd want to kill me for lying though. I think. I don't know, being out on the road for so long tends to mess with the head.

Sam wandered to the opposite side of the room, and pulled out a laptop.

Dean, on the other hand, continued to study me in a way that made me feel very awkward. If only I was wearing my Lara Croft outfit instead of this. I felt like I was wearing a bunny costume, minus the ears and the puff of a tail, of course. It made me feel like a child. A child amongst men. Awkward…

"What?" I shot at him, huffing as I plopped myself down on the next bed and crossed my arms across my chest.

"Just trying to figure out what makes you so terrible," he responded nonchalantly, lips quirked into a cocky half-grin. "Anyway, it's been fun. Time to get back to work."

I watched him saunter to the table where his brother was doing some intense web surfing. Why isn't the thing going after _him_? I'm sure he has more over his head than I have over mine. In fact, I'm almost sure of it. I'm not even talking about hunting. He seems the love-'em-then-leave-'em type. I'm sure he covets his neighbor's wife. He's a guy, he lusts. Lies, steals, cheats, swindles.

So why me?

Well, the irritating voice in my head supplied, you were in the area first. He'll probably get to the brothers after he's done with you.

"We got something," Sam called, eyes still trained on the screen. The backlight cast an eerie glow over his face, causing him to look almost ghostly. I shook myself and walked over.

"Did he look like this?"

The photo on the screen was a fleshy version of the spirit that had tried to strangle me to death. Seeing him in his corporeal self just reminded me of the fact that I would have no qualms shooting him on the street if I saw him walking around. And it's probably thoughts like these that make him try to off me in his ghostly visage.

"Yes," I bit out, glaring at the photo. He looked the epitome of normal. Safe. Never judge a book by its cover is all this means, I thought wryly.

"His name's Jeffrey Horin," Sam read. "Died at Holy Trinity Church just down the street. Shot by a homicidal churchgoer…Anthony Musgrove." He clicked on the mouse and scrolled down. "Musgrove's wife had left him just days earlier, and that drove him in a rage."

"A homicidal rage? Over a divorce?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "Wait…apparently he suspected that his wife was having an affair with our priest. Wow. Okay."

"Not such a great person himself, huh?" Dean whistled. "At least he hasn't been touching the altar boys."

"We don't know that," I prompted with a laugh. "Does it say where he's buried?"

Holy fuck. Think before you speak, Kate!

Two pairs of eyes turned to stare at me. One incredulous, the other full of knowing with a tinge of triumph.

I backtracked immediately. "I read something about it online once. Don't you have to burn the bones or something?"

Dean scoffed, as Sam answered. "They have to be salted and burned. And yes. He's buried in Glenmont Cemetery on Knox Road. Looks like we've got work to do."

"Can I come?" I asked, knowing full well that they would say no.

"Just stay inside the salt lines and you'll be fine," Sam instructed, shutting his laptop as he stood.

As they walked out the door, I could tell Dean wanted to say something. Probably something along the lines of "I'm onto you."

Instead, he told me to check the salt and to keep the door locked.

The minute they had closed the door behind them, I took off the bathrobe and grabbed all of my stuff.

No point in waiting around for them to return.


End file.
